Cold stone pressed against his back.
He opened his eyes to a sky fractured by broken pillars and fallen arches.
The structure above looked ancient—cracked marble, eroded symbols, dust drifting lazily through the air as if time itself had slowed here.
The place felt wrong—not abandoned, but forgotten.
He tried to move.
Pain shot through his body. Silver chains tightened around his arms and legs, rising from the ground and vanishing into nothingness.
They weren't metal, nor shadow, yet they held him with absolute certainty.
He struggled.
The chains trembled—then crumbled at once, collapsing into pale dust that scattered across the stone floor, as if they had been waiting centuries to fall apart.
He stood, brushing dust from his clothes.
Long marble pillars circled around him, cracked from top to bottom.
A symbol was carved into the stone: three lines converging at a single point—two long curves sweeping outward like folded wings, and a straight line dropping from their meeting place.
Far away, a sword lay near one of the pillars.
He approached it and picked it up, examining it carefully. Its blade wasn't sharp nor blunt.
No carvings or markings adorned the hilt.
It wasn't much of a sword—yet it was far too familiar.
Finally, he spoke its name:
"Excalibur…"
He took a step forward. The ground crunched beneath his boots. Fragments of marble littered the floor, pillars lay shattered, half-buried in dust.
This place wasn't just ruined—it had been destroyed.
He moved carefully, gripping the sword tighter. The air felt heavy, stale, as if it hadn't been disturbed in years… or longer.
Then the clouds shifted. Light poured down from above.
A sharp, blinding glare struck his eyes. He raised an arm instinctively, hissing as pain flared.
The sun burned against his skin, unnatural, hostile.
He staggered back. "…Tch."
Slowly, he lowered his arm.
The pain dulled to a deep ache. He endured it. Whatever had sealed him here, whatever this place was—he wasn't meant to remain.
Beyond the ruins, the land opened up. Mountains rose in the distance, jagged peaks cutting into the sky. Between them stretched a vast forest, dark and endless, its canopy swaying beneath the wind.
Behind him, the ruins sprawled across the field. Whatever had once stood here, it had not fallen quietly. A kingdom, maybe. Something grand.
He turned away. No voice called him back. No memory tied him to the stone beneath his feet.
Only the weight of the sword in his hand and a strange certainty pulling him forward.
As he stepped into the forest, chains did not return. Nothing stopped him.
He paused. "
Zack." The name felt right. It was the only thing he remembered.
Branches clawed at his clothes, roots twisting beneath his feet. A low growl cut through the air.
He turned just in time to see it—a wolf-shaped shadow, half-formed, edges flickering like smoke, one leg dragging behind. Its eyes locked onto him.
It lunged. Zack raised the sword. The impact rattled his arms, driving him back into a tree. Pain exploded through his shoulder.
Instinct took over. He thrust the blade forward.
The shadow let out a sound like air tearing apart, then shattered, dissolving into smoke.
He stayed still. Then exhaled. His hands shook.
The sound of flowing water drew him to a narrow river cutting through stone.
Sunlight reflected off its surface, blinding for a moment.
He knelt, staring at his reflection. A stranger stared back—a young man with messy brown hair and sharp dark eyes. He stepped into the cold water, washing blood and dirt from his arms. The river carried it away without care.
The sun dipped behind the trees. Cold crept into his bones.
Zack sank to the ground in a small clearing, back against a tree, and gripped his sword tightly, hugging it to his chest. If anything came in the dark, he would be ready.
Exhaustion pulled him under.
His eyes closed. The forest whispered and waited—but he slept.
The world had forgotten him—but he hadn't forgotten how to survive.